


Half Was Never Enough

by alabaster_wings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Feels, I do what I want, M/M, More angst, Niall is a Good Friend, Oop, Sad Louis, Smut, Swearing, but good stuff too, going against the grain, harry sleeps around, i had a dream about this, i hope you feel pain, louis buries his feelings, mostly pain though, my mind is a strange place, niall and louis are bffs, or england at all, sorry - Freeform, thats just how i roll, they arent actually in london, they're world travelers i guess, this is mostly just feels junk, yipee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:20:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alabaster_wings/pseuds/alabaster_wings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis was never really okay with it to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half Was Never Enough

It never really bothered Louis, not really.

Harry had the right to do whatever he wanted with  _whoever_ he wanted, really. It wasn't like they were  _exclusive,_ honestly. Louis didn't  _mind_ that Harry would leave a club with some random bloke or girl and roll into bed at four in the morning to have a cuddle with Louis. He _didn't_. 

Only. Well. 

Falling in love with his non-exclusive, uncommitted boyfriend had never really been the plan. But, well, he had. And so he was happy with what he got, he was happy with the touches and the kisses and the feel of having Harry even though he didn't really have him at all.

He was not, however, happy with the knowledge that  _every-fucking-one else_ got to get that too.

But, well, Harry had made it abundantly clear that things would only work between them if things weren't  _serious_. They couldn't be casual without Harry fucking other people before he let Louis fuck him, couldn't be casual without the taste of someone else on Harry's lips when Louis kissed him. They couldn't be  _casual_ without Harry being as unattainable as humanly possible while still being right there in front of Louis.

And yet all that was in vain. Louis still fell in love. He still cries himself to sleep on the nights Harry doesn't come home with him. He still hates himself for taking this abuse so  _willingly_. But that's okay.

It's okay because at least he's got half of Harry.

 

 

 

 --

 

 

Things weren't bad, not really, until Barbados. 

Louis sits in the sun with his face tilted up and his eyes closed, grinning as Harry hums softly next to him. Niall and Liam are kicking a football back and forth, though Liam appears to have to keep going into the ocean to get the ball, and Zayn is very daringly flying a kite and smoking a cigarette while being ogled by half the beach population.

The other half is ogling Harry.

Cracking an eye open, Louis flicks his gaze down to watch Harry's fingers trace shapes into the sand, "I hate the beach."

Harry snorts, tilting his head up to grin dazzlingly up at Louis, "No you don't."

"I suppose not, but I  _do_ hate sand," Louis counters, voice sweet because it's Harry looking up at him. Harry doesn't look at him like this often, so he basks in it for as long as possible whenever it happens. When Harry looks at him like this, like maybe things are a little more serious than Harry treats them, Louis thinks that maybe if he asked for exclusivity it wouldn't be the end of the world.

But, of course, Harry's eye is caught by the bottle blonde lifeguard sitting on her tower thing, and the look is gone along with Louis' thoughtless and ridiculous hope, "See you at dinner, yeah?"

Louis knows that, no, he won't see Harry for dinner. He rarely does anymore. "Alright," he sighs instead of arguing the point. With anyone else, Louis is sassy to the point of terrifying. With Harry, he's just quietly resigned. It's a precarious thing, being casual, because he's constnatly questioning everything he says and does in fear of being more than casual or asking for too much or reacting the wrong way.

And then Harry will just be  _gone_. And Louis will hate himself for losing this.

Niall abandons Liam as soon as he notices that Louis is no longer shining brighter than the sun, bounding over to flop down next to him with sad eyes, "Lou ~~\--~~ "

Louis shakes his head once, turning away when he notices Harry brushing a hand up the curve of the lifeguard's calf, "'m kinda tired, Ni. Think I'll just head back to the cabin and take a nap or summat."

See, Niall knows how much Louis struggles with this, knows that Louis cries more than he smiles and knows that Louis' heart aches more than is healthy and knows that Louis is positively drowning in this situation, so of course he doesn't just let it go, "I'll come with you. 'm a bit hungry, meself."

If Louis wants to argue it, he knows the attempt is futile. He's really okay with Niall coming along, though, because the presence will keep the tears at bay and keep the lonliness from creeping in. The sky's already dimmed considerably since Harry's attention was drawn elsewhere, but at least the clouds won't completely overtake Louis right now. "Okay," he doesn't remember the first time his voice sounded that meak, but it's become a regular thing with Niall. 

Because while Louis is timid around Harry, he cannot afford to be weak.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis wakes up to his phone ringing across the coffee table. His head is on Niall's shoulder and Niall is drooling on the couch. He answers the phone and winces at the boisterisness of Harry's voice, "Lou! There you are!"

He scrunches his nose when he sees it's half three in the morning, sighing as he scrubs a hand over his eyes, "Whatdya want, Harry?"

"I need you to come get me. I fucked the lifeguard lady and I don't know how to get back," Harry is still speaking in that painfully bring voice, as if he doesn't even realize he's breaking their unspoken agreement. While Louis permits Harry's fucking whomever he'd like, Louis does not take part in such extracurricular activities, so they've agreed rather just by accident that Harry doesn't make his fuckings  _obvious_ by flaunting them or  _asking Louis to pick him up from them_.

Niall wakes up quickly enough when Louis' voice breaks on the word, "Where?"

Harry relays an address that's probably wrong and Louis can't really hear it over the sound of his blood rushing in his ear and the sound of giggling in the background. All he can hear is the fact that Harry was just fucking someone else and now he wants Louis to _come get him_ like they're motherfucking mates or Louis is a goddamned cab service or something.

Luckily, Niall takes the phone from Louis' frozen fingers and exchanges soft words with Harry before hanging up. He sighs and squeezes Louis' shoulder, "I'll go get 'im. Go't sleep, Lou."

"No," and Louis accepts the fact that there  _has_ to be some part of him that really is dead set on watching himself crash and burn until there's nothing left of him but ash, that a part of him is just really pushing for self destruction, "I'm going. 's not like we're  _exclusive_ , Niall."

Niall hangs his head and nods, grabbing the car keys and sighing because while he cares deeply for Louis, he won't stand in the way of what Louis wants. Except, maybe, if he knew that what Louis wants is to push himself so far over the edge that there's no hope for his survivial. "He's drunk, Lou," Niall says wearily as they drive, though it falls flat as far as excuses go and it really only makes Louis ache a little bit more.

"Smart of him to call, then," is all Louis says, staring determindedly out the window because he'll cry if he meets Niall's eyes and crying isn't something he does with other people around. His pain is no one's business but his own.

But, of course, Niall somehow already  _knows_ how much Louis is hurting, "Lou, stay in the car." It's a demand, a gentle one, but a demand nontheless. Niall is quite possibly the best friend Louis has ever had, mostly because he's not afraid to be firm with Louis and he's good at removing Louis from situations that Louis really has no place in.

Like picking Harry up from his latest fuck that isn't Louis.

Louis only shakes his head and climbs out of the car, his voice feeble, "Harry asked me to pick him up. That's what I plan on doing."

Niall only sighs and makes sure to angle his body so that he's standing slightly in front of Louis as they step up to the door. He rings the doorbell and gives Louis a weak smile that weghs down on his heart. 

Louis doesn't like pity, he  _hates_ it honestly, but Niall's look is justified and not even Louis has the strength to deny that. They both know he's in the worst position he could ever be in, and they both know this isn't going to be painless. They also both know that Louis is going to see this through to the end even if it kills him.

Harry stumbles to the door wearing only his boxers, eyes glazes and a smile on his kiss-reddened lips. It makes Louis' stomach drop down to his knees. "Lou!" And then Harry is sweeping him into a kiss that tastes like cheap beer and woman and possibly candy flavored lip gloss.

Louis pushes free, which is ridiculously easy since Harry's drunk off his ass, but the pain is too deep in Louis' chest for it to be easy, "Don't." When Harry wilts and his shoulders curve inward, Louis adds, very quietly, "You taste like her."

As if Louis' words are magic in the worst possible way, she appears just behind Harry's drooping frame, wearing  _his_ shirt and grinning like she's just won the motherfucking lottery, "You must be Louis."

"I hope you made him use a condom; he fucks everything that breathes," Louis snaps coldly, heart aching because his words are true and he wishes more than anything that they weren't. He isn't used to this, he isn't used to  _seeing_ the evidence that he's never been enough for Harry. He's always sort of known it, but it's different when it's staring him in the face wearing his boyfriend's shirt and probably tasting like him too.

Louis is going to be sick.

Lifeguard lady smiles warmly, not at all perturbed by the acrid tone of Louis' words, "From what I hear,  _you_ sure don't worry about protection."

And that's  _it_. Louis walks away, shaking palms pressed to his sides and eyes blurring as he walks numbly back to the car. Niall can take care of the rest of it, Louis doesn't really care. He passes the car without a thought, pain drilling into him from every angle. As if it isn't enough that Harry  _fucks_ other people, he has to talk about  _Louis_ while he does it. Probably even laughs about him too. 

His skin feels too hot, too raw. Everything is sharper and more painful, leaving Louis bleeding and torn open with every breath that leaves his lungs and every step he takes. His tears blur and spill over, painting the world in murky shades of blacks and greys that match how he feels. Louis doesn't let himself cry in public like this, usually saving it for his morning shower or when he's curled up alone in a too-big bed and waiting pathetically for Harry to come back.

But, well, this time it's allowed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis doesn't sleep that night. He wanders the beach until his feet have been rubbed raw by the sand and then he slips back into the cabin with gritty and dry eyes and defeated shoulders. He doesn't know what this means, he doesn't know why  _now_ had to be when Harry pushed so hard to break him. It just doesn't add up, doesn't compute properly, so Louis is left broken and confused and horribly embarrassed.

He sits at the table and sips his tea and tries to remember what it feels like to be happy in a relationship. He doesn't know, can't even call up what it's  _supposed_ to feel like. All he feels is cold and angry and stupid, stupid,  _stupid_.

Liam wakes up with the sun and spends fifteen minutes holding Louis on the couch, running his hands through Louis' fringe and not saying anything. He doesn't have to, not really, because Liam has known Louis for a long time and has known for even longer how much Louis really just needs to feel wanted.

Louis doesn't feel wanted, though, because how could he when his boyfriend fucks someone different almost every night? He doesn't tell Liam this, though, doesn't let Liam know that it's not enough. Because, really, he's lucky to have what he does, and it would be reckless and disappointing to ask for more than he's got.

Because how can he ask for more when he's barely getting half?

How can he ask for more when he's only  _allowed_ half?

But then the fifteen minutes is over and Liam is gone, off for his morning run and off for more important things. Louis doesn't let it get to him, if for no other reason than he just  _can't_. There are more pressing matters than Liam's obsessive need to work out. There are more pressing matters like schooling his features into those of nonchalance and anything other than heartbreak because Harry will be waking up soon.

Louis is an exceptionally good actor, which means by the time Harry is stumbling into the living room smelling like Ivory soap and still damp from his shower, Louis is able to grin at him and toss out a teasing, "Long night?"

Harry's brow crinkles like he isn't really sure how to answer that question, but it's only for a moment before he's grinning and mumbling, "Not complaining."

_You wouldn't_ , Louis thinks to himself, keeping his frown hidden and his eyes carefully devoid of emotion. It doesn't matter that he's aching and has been crying for the past eight hours, it  _doesn't_ , because now Harry is grinning at him and giving him The Look that sort of makes things all better for a little while. Of course, that really only makes things a million times worse when Harry leaves again, but Louis always was about the highest highs and the lowest lows.

He just never thought both would come from the same person.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis stays in for the day. 

Harry frowns when he hears this, asks if Louis is feeling well, and then is gone surfing for the day. Louis doesn't really expcet to see him until the next morning. Niall, on the other hand, is pestering and borderline annoying with his hovering.

Louis huffs and slouches, trying not to let his voice waver, "Niall, I'm  _fine_. We all knew that Harry fucked random people."

"Louis," Niall says softly, looking hesitant and overprotective of Louis. It's an odd thing, mostly because not even Liam looks at Louis like that. Not even Liam can be so overbearing and worrying when it comes to Louis.

Mostly because Louis never really lets him. 

But Louis lets Niall because Niall is soft and gentle anyway, and there's really no way Louis can do this on his own. "Really, Ni. 'm alright. Go have fun. 've got some stuff to do anyway." He doesn't, not really, but anything is better than having to go out and watch Harry flirt with someone that isn't him.

Niall finally gives in and heads out to play footie with Liam again. Zayn's gone to a sand art contest, so he won't be back until the sun's long since set. Which means Louis is free to write poetry and cry and do anything he pleases without having to painstakingly analyze every thought and action and expression.

He can just _be_.

Granted, that's not very enjoyable either, since he's alone and his boyfriend is fucking about a million someone elses and everything just  _hurts_.

But he still tugs out his spiral notebook and black ink pen, flipping to a new page and running his fingers over the wire loops as he things. The words come easy, far too easy for this type of pain:

_Heart aches_

_Body shakes_

_Another hit_

_Is all it takes_

_Down for the count_

_A wall I can't surmount_

_This pain has brought me to my knees_

_I'm drowning in the seas_

_Lungs don't inhale_

_About time things start to fail_

_Heart stops beating_

_Breathing's receding_

Louis stops, stops because it hurts and he's not supposed to think about how much it hurts but he can't seem to stop and now all he can do is stare down at the forming poem and ache to finish it. So he takes a shuddering breath, wondering dimly when he started crying and knowing somewhere in the back of his head that he probably won't be able to stop.

_I'm fading away_

_Long gone astray_

_Nothing to hold_

_No choice but to fold_

 

_Not bent_

_Just broken_

_He's Heaven sent_

_And I'm just words unspoken_

_  
_It doesn't make sense, not really, not to someone who doesn't _know_ the inside of Louis' head as well as he does. But, to him, it's brought everything into such sharp clairty that he is truly and completely fucked. He's on the path to destruction, there's no doubt about that, and he's unable to stop it. He doesn't  _want_ to. Because even this hell, this endless pain and aching, is better than what it would be to turn away from Harry and never look back.

Because while half may not be nearly enough, it's better than nothing at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis falls into a fitful sleep and ends up sleeping the day away in a bed that smells like Harry and feels like hell. He wakes up to the sounds of the other boys coming in, laughter panging through his chest like a blade. The door creaks open and he knows deep in his gut that Harry is looking at him, which is confirmed when Harry whispers, "Lou?"

Louis shifts just a little, just enough for Harry to know that he's awake. He doesn't trust himself to speak.

Harry slips into the room and stops, Louis can hear him shifting his weight uncertainly like he does when he's nervous, "Lou? What's that?"

And Louis realizes he's left his notebook open on the bed, the pages scrawled all over with words and thoughts and  _feelings_. He bolts up fast enough to make his head spin, snatching the book out of Harry's hands and clutching it to his chest, "Nothing."

"Louis ~~\--~~ " Harry starts, using that begging and pouty tone that he knows will get him whatever he wants.

Louis is  _sick_ of being such a pushover about it, and, really, he should've seen this coming sooner, " _No_ , dammit. Not every damn thing I have belongs to you. I won't fucking hand it all over when you don't give me  _any_ of you!" He blanches, ducking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. He's just  _ruined_ it, he's just overstepped the line that he swore he'd never cross.

Harry takes a step back. His eyebrows draw together. His lips turn down and Louis' heart stops. "I...I'm sorry."

Nodding once, stiffly, Louis carefully changes the subject to keep from throwing up, "Good day?"

"Not really," Harry doesn't elaborate, and Louis is too terrified to ask, so silence decends upon them, thich and heavy and threatening to suffocate Louis with every passing moment. Finally, Harry sighs in that way that has Louis wincing and his voice is far too soft for the blow it carries, "Niall told me about last night."

Louis keeps his expression blank, looking up through his lashes in the hopes that Harry won't be able to read too much in his gaze, "Proper smashed, you were."

"Louis." And Louis  _does_ flinch at that, causing Harry's frown to deepen. "I'm not angry with you," Harry murmurs, recognition clearing his gaze. He steps around the bed, gentle hands touching at Louis' shoulders first, fingers soft and hesitant, "Why would I be angry with you?"

Louis isn't sure if he's relieved or angry that Harry's figured him out so easily, trying with everything in him not to give in to the touch, "I don't know."

"I'm sorry," Harry says softly as his fingers slip up over Louis' collarbones, hooking into them and tugging Louis closer. His fingers trace slow curves up Louis' neck, tilting Louis' head back until they're looking each other in the eye, "Let me make it up to you." And his lips are so much sweeter than they were the night before, so much more  _Harry_.

Louis lets Harry tilt his head back and deepen the kiss, lets himself fall into the fact that Harry tastes only like  _Harry_ and that Harry is only focused on  _Louis_. But then his thoughts are creeping back into his head, reminding him that Harry isn't  _his._ That there's nothing about Harry that's ever going to be his. And that makes him pull back, voice shaking as he drops his head, "No." His voice cracks but he forges on because if he doesn't Harry won't _listen_ , "You  _told_ her about me, Harry. And probably everyone else you've fucked, too.  _Why?_ Why would you do that to me?"

Harry's hands drop as if Louis' burned him, stumbling back a step, "Lou ~~\--~~ it's not what you think."

"It never is with you," he mutters, unable to just  _not_ anymore. He's spent so long following carefully crafted rules, so long making sure that he never dared say a word that would make Harry reconsider the two of them. But now, now he's feeling so raw and torn open that he just can't bring himself to  _care_.

Now he just wants this pain to  _stop_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry's gone for the next three days.

Louis spends most of his time watching reruns of Switched at Birth and alternating between packing and unpacking his bags. As soon as he convinces himself that he should leave and never even  _think_ of looking back, The Look flashes behind his eyes and he can't do it. 

Niall watches the entire thing with wary eyes, not giving an opinoin until Louis finally throws his suitcase to the floor and tugs at his hair, "What the fuck am I  _doing_?"

"Been asking meself that since yesterday," Niall replies slowly, probably wishing he could be anywhere but having this conversation with Louis.

Louis groans and kicks a pair of shoes across the room, "Dammit, I'm such an _idiot_. I'm  _questioning_ leaving when Harry's probably out fucking anything he can and dishing out details about  _our_ sex life because the sex he has  _without_ me just isn't satisfying enough without making fun of me during it."

Niall doesn't say anything, but he doesn't really have to. He's letting Louis work this out for himself, which is sort of necessary. Not because Louis won't  _listen_ , exactly, but because Louis needs to work things out for himself otherwise he'll never  _let it go_.

"I mean, what the  _fuck_ have I been doing wrong? Am I a bad fuck? Am I not  _good_ enough for him?" With each word Louis flings another piece of clothing against the wall. After spending so long feeling so  _pathetic_ , he's finally gotten to the point of being  _angry_. And while it scares him, Louis is feeling almost close enough to the point of being _better_.

Niall finally speaks, voice startlingly quiet after Louis' shouting, "Maybe you should talk to him."

Louis isn't sure if it's a laugh or a sob that escapes him, but it hurts nonetheless, "I can't even look him in the eye, let alone  _tell_ him how I've been in love with him for the past two years." It's the first time he's admitted it out loud, but Louis realizes he's made it abundantly obvious even without the words. He's not sure how ashamed of that he should be, but it's probably a lot.

"What?"

Louis ignores him, throws another shoe at the wall. He sighs, fisting his hands over his eyes, "Come off it, Ni. I know you know. 'm sure everyone but Harry does, honestly."

"Now even he knows," Niall says cheerfully, nodding his head behind Louis. 

Louis whirls around, stomach dropping through the floor as he takes in Harry leaning against the doorway. He's not smiling, he's glowering. Louis really  _is_ going to throw up this time. "That true, Louis?" His voice makes Louis flinch, and he knows that this time is one million percent justified.

"You told her that we don't use condoms but you didn't mention the part where  _I_ fuck  _you_ ," Louis snaps, tired of flinching and cowering away from Harry. It's not as if Harry would  _hit_ him, so he isn't exactly sure what this irrational fear stems from.

It can't possibly be fear of  _losing_ Harry.

That would require him to  _have_ him in the first place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis is very careful over the next day and a half.

He stays as close to Niall as he can possibly get, using every excuse in the book to stay as far away from Harry as he can get. It's not that he's  _avoiding_ him, it's that Harry is someone that Louis should have been distancing himself from for a long time now.

Better late than never, really.

Of course, that's a little bit more difficult to do than should be necessary. Harry is making out with some bloke at the other end of the pool, being as loud and noticable as possible. 

Louis sort of wants to drown himself. 

Niall touches his shoulder, jaw set and eyes hard, "Be right back, Lou." He gets out of the water, leaving Louis confused as he pads across the concrete to the other end of the pool. Louis' eyebrows stay crinkled until Niall taps Harry on the shoulder. He has just enough time to take a step forward before Niall reels back and punches Harry square across the jaw.

Harry, surprisingly enough, doesn't so much as get angry. His shoulders wilt and his head droops as Niall shoves him back a step. They're muttering, both of them, speaking too quietly for Louis to hear all the way on the other side of the pool.

He's sort of frozen in place, caught between wanting to slip under the water and run for cover. Niall is clearly upset about Louis, unless this is about Harry using the last of the mayple syrup, which is doubtful. Which begs the question; what the hell is he saying to Harry?

The exchange itself is actually over fairly quickly, and Niall is diving into the water and swimming back over to Louis in what seems like the blink of an eye. His grin is slightly more focred than it usually is, but it's a grin nonetheless, "Lunch, yeah?"

Louis nods, a smile of his own finding its way onto his face. It feels a little odd on his features after the week from hell, but he supposes it's probably a good thing that he's smiling at all, "'bout time you said something. 'm starving."

And if Harry is staring at him, Louis doesn't dare let himself notice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Being cornered in the bathroom is the last place Louis expects to be.

Yet, here he is, the edge of the sink digging into his lower back and Harry towering over him. He hadn't even  _seen_ Harry come into the little Tiki Cafe he and Niall had picked for lunch, but here he was, looking just a little bit terrifying with a purpling bruise on his jaw.

"Move please," Louis says quietly, hoping the shaking of his voice isn't audible. The last thing he needs is for Harry to know that he's terrified of him too.

"Stop trying to run away from me, Louis," Harry demands just as quietly, hands braced on the sink on either side of Louis' body. "You're not faster than me."

Louis _hates_ being talked down at, and a little bit of anger slips over his panic, "I don't  _run_. Now  _move_."

Harry doesn't waver, though one eyebrow arches at Louis' tone. He's never really heard Louis speak like that, not with how terrified Louis has always been of doing the wrong thing. "One of my best mates punched me in the face. Was there a  _reason_?"

"Well," Louis draws out the word, itching for personal space, "you  _are_ an asshole, so maybe you deserved it." He wants to maybe kick Harry in the shins or knee him in the balls, but all he can do is stare up into those enerald eyes and try not to take his words back. 

Being in love is never a good idea, but it's positively idiotic when the person you love is a douche.

Harry leans closer, eyes big and wide and far too honest, "I don't get you. The  _first_ thing you ever said to me was how much you hate commitment and relationships. What the  _hell_? Was that just a lie? I've beeing going out of my  _mind_ trying to keep myself from thinking about you every damn second of the day, and you apparently never fucking  _wanted_ an open relationship anyway!"

Louis frowns, then he shoves Harry. Hard. Next thing he knows, he's pointing aa finger at Harry's chest and so angry that he might have to reconsider kicking him in the shins, "You son of a  _bitch_. _You_ asked  _me_ for an open relationship! What was I supposed to do? Tell you that I wanted all of you to myself? Would you have agreed?  _Would you?"_

Harry looks down, biting his lip. They both know that, two years ago, there's no way in hell Harry would've agreed with that. His lack of answer is really all Louis needs to hear.

He takes a step back, squaring his shoulders, "Well, sorry Niall punched you."

It's as Louis is pushing the door open to leave that Harry says, very softly, "What if I wanted that now?"

Louis pretends not to hear him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's at a club, two weeks later, in America that Louis finally sees him again.

Louis and Niall are goofing around, not so much interested in pulling as they are just having a good time. Niall is beyond pissed, but Louis voted to only get mildly tipsy, so it's no wonder he recognizes him.

Harry looks like shit.

Louis can obviously see that in the slumped curve of his shoulders and the pinched line between his forehead, but, well, Louis has always thought Harry is the most beautiful person he's ever seen. He still thinks it. But that doesn't stop him from looking away when their eyes meet across the dance floor. 

Louis isn't sure how they ended up at the same club, but he has a feeling it has something to do with Liam knowing where he was going tonight. "Dance with me!" he shouts at Niall, laughing when the Irish dork stumbles into a girl and spills her drink.

Niall grins and shrugs as if to say  _what can you do_  and tugs Louis out onto the dance floor. They're proper idiots, they are, because neither of them can follow a beat to save their lives and Niall really does more of a jump up and down thing than actual dance moves. Louis is content to just swing his hips to the beat, letting his mind blank out as the flashing strobe lights blind him.

He dances with a few strangers, none of whom ask for his name and none of whom he would have given it to. And, even though he can't see who it is, Louis knows the exact moment Harry's chest is the one pressing against his back. Knows the exact moment it's Harry sliding his fingers around his waist and tugging them closer. No one else ever holds Louis like Harry does, and Louis isn't sure if that makes him want to scream or cry or maybe laugh.

"Come home with me," Harry murmurs gruffly in his ear, an almost desparate ring to his tone.

Louis turns, looks up into Harry eyes, and inhales sharply. Harry is stone cold sober, there are purple bags under his eyes, and his pupils are blown so wide that the green is nearly completely covered. That's about the moment Louis notices just how tight Harry's jeans are. He doesn't know what it is that look does to him, but it has him nodding and stretching up onto his toes so he can speak in Harry's ear, "Gotta tell Niall bye."

Harry does the oddest thing next. He reaches down and threads their fingers together, waiting with wide eyes for Louis to get a move on. And Louis does just that, locating Niall's towering blonde hair over the crowd and making a beeline for him. After a thumbs up and an "Atta boy" from Niall, they're weaving through the crowd and pushing out of the club.

Harry doesn't let go of Louis' hand and Louis doesn't ask him to, so they walk close together and without speaking. Louis remembers the few times he and Harry would go out together  _and_ leave together, but he doesn't remember hand holding ever being a part of that. "Too serious" is what comes bitterly to Louis' mind at the thought.

He hastily shoves it away, peeking up at Harry curiously, "You look like shit."

"You always were good with dirty talk," Harry sighs, the sound far too heavy for the energy thrumming through his gaze.

Louis rolls his eyes and bumps their shoulders together, "Just making sure you aren't dying or summat. I wouldn't want to catch whatever it is you have if you  _are_ dying." He wonders for a fleeting moment if things would have turned out differently had he not tried so hard to keep comments like those to himself, no matter how joking they might be. 

"Haven't been sleeping good lately," and there's a slight upward tilt to Harry's lips, so Louis thinks that maybe things wouldn't have turned out so differently than they did.

"Busy nights?" Louis dares ask, ignoring the pinching in his gut at the thought.

Harry only shakes his head, though, turning the corner and tugging Louis closer as he admits, "'s not the same. Sleeping without you."

Oh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis is sure it's a nice flat. He's also sure he can admire it when he's  _not_ pinned to the front door, being kissed like he'll never be kissed again.

He manages to wiggle his hands between their rutting hips and shove Harry back a step, "G'off." That's all he says before dropping to his knees. Harry makes some sort of swear-gasp-moan mixture as Louis palms him through his jeans before popping the button and tugging the zip down. Louis looks up before he goes any further, arching a brow at how Harry's hands are already flat against the door as if he might collapse, "Who was the last person to blow you?"

Harry's eyes blink open, slightly unfocused but wide nonetheless, "What?" Louis doesn't repeat himself, just waits for the answer. Harry shakes his head, a little desperately, "You."

_That_ changes things just a bit.

Louis frowns, "What about the lifeguard slut?"

"Didn't let her." Harry doesn't say anything else, as if that's really all the answer Louis needs. And, well, he supposes it  _is_ all he needs.

It's probably ridiculous, but Harry seems bigger than Louis remembers. He's rolls his eyes at that thought as he presses forward and sucks only just at the junction of Harry's thigh and hip, just where he likes it. The skin is red and splotchy as Louis pulls back and glances up again. Harry moans deliciously when Louis walks his fingers over the pale expanse of his thigh. 

Louis knows Harry too well.

He fists Harry's cock and strokes once, harshly, just to work him up a bit. It works, if the keening sound that falls from Harry's lips is any indication. Louis grins despite himself and swipes his thumb over the head of Harry's dick. The shudder that zings up Harry's body is sort of breathtaking, but Louis doesn't give himself the chance to ponder.

It's so  _gay_ of him, but Louis is maybe a little bit in love with deepthroating. It's just...he doesn't have a gag reflex, and while that's great for when he's getting step tested, being able to make Harry _mewl_ is so much more valuable. And he does just that, taking Harry as far back as he can and hollows his cheeks before flicking his tongue around the head and pulling off with a pop. He looks up through his lashes when Harry's knees buckle, arching a brow, "Gonna last up there?"

And then he's being hauled to his feet, Harry's mouth gentle and simmering against his own. Louis isn't used to being kissed like this, isn't used to being treated so fragilly. It makes his hands tremble slightly where they're tangled in Harry's curls. But,  _no_ , this can't be like that. 

Louis won't recover this time.

So he pushes forward, forcing this to be something that isn't gentle and slow. He doesn't want that. He  _can't_  handle that. He  _can't_. They're a tangle of limbs and clothes and rough kisses that Louis controls completely. 

By the time they've finally made it to the bed, Harry is breathless and trembling and Louis is trying with everything in him not to  _slow down_. But he can't slow down, can't let his heart catch up to all of this. Because Louis is  _sick_  of having his heart screw up  _everything_  that happens with Harry. He just wants one,  _one_  night to be carefree and won't leave him aching and empty the next morning.

The thing is, though, is that he's not sure how he'll feel if that's what he gets.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis should leave.

He knows this, knew it the moment he woke up in Harry's arms, knew it as he was pulling on Harry's shirt, and still knows it as he leans against the doorway and stares at Harry sleeping in bed, bare shoulders exposed and lips parted.

Louis knows he should leave, but he just  _can't_.

A knock on the door does the trick of jerking him out of his daze. Louis stills for a moment as if he's just been caught doing something illegal. He shakes out of it and answers the door, thinking momentarily that he could get abducted or raped or something. 

Neither thought, however, prepares him for the sight of the hipster boy standing in front of him, dressed impecibly and looking far too attractive. Louis doesn't have the  _right_ to get jealous, but he sort of does anyway, tone sharp, "Can I help you?"

"Lookin' for Harry, mate. He up yet?" Hipster boy asks cheerfully, grin too wide and tone too friendly.

Louis' stomach sort of drops through the floor, and he takes a slight step back, "No, but he should be soon. Please, help yourself if you're looking to loot the place. I was just on my way out."

"Nice to meet you, Louis. I'm glad Harry got everything worked out between the two of you," hipster boy says just as cheerfully, not at all dismayed or put out by how clearly  _rude_ Louis is being.

But then his words compute in Louis' head and he stills, thinking  _no, not again_ , "Excuse me?"

Hipster boy just keeps on with the goddamned  _smile_ , like he doesn't have a care in the world, "I just mean the boy's completely gone over you, and it was a right shame watchin' him mope about these past few weeks."

Louis is very good at composing his features, and he keeps his expression blank as he shrugs, "Well, I'm off. Lovely to meet you; I'd hate to do it again." And the thing is, Louis actually really  _would_ mind seeing hipster boy again. He has far too much dignity to have a chat with one of Harry's fucks,  _thank you very much_.

Out in the hall, Louis squares his shoulders. Now that he's said his goodbye (in the form of a fuck, but still) he's free to move on with his life and stop revolving around  _HarryHarryHarry_ all the time. So, really, no one should be surprised about what his next move is.

As he's in the lift, Louis calls Niall, the idea already shining crystal clear in his head. Niall, the good mate he is, answers on the second ring, sounding hardly even hung over for eight in the morning.

"Niall, we're getting tattoos."

 

 

 

 

 

 

_The ocean waves are_

_Endless blue_

_Whether near or far_

_I'll always remember you_

 

Louis can't help it. He can't help feeling so...unsettled. He  _likes_ the tattoo, he really does. He likes the way it stings even three hours later, and he likes the way it's  _permenant_. 

What he doesn't like is the fact that it's not  _finished_.

It's a two stanza poem, one he wrote back when he was still young and hopeful about him and Harry. He isn't sure why  _that's_ the one he decided to forever immortalize on his skin, but he can't exactly take it back now.

Niall snorts at the look on his face, sprawling out on the couch, "What's the rest of it?"

Louis looks up from where he's been staring at the ink on his wrist, sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, "Doesn't really matter. I mean, there  _is_  more, but it just...it's hard to explain."

"Why not get all of it, then?" Louis can see it in his eyes that Niall already knows the answer, but it's not about the answer, it's about seeing what Louis will admit to.

And, well, Louis will admit anything to Niall, "Because the second half isn't mine. I mean, I wrote it, but it's not  _mine_." And, well, Louis realizes that it _isn't_ his, never was in the first place. 

Yet again, he's reminded of how all he's ever gotten is half.

He doesn't know how it ever seemed like enough.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis is falling asleep on the couch when the doorbell rings. 

He votes Niall to get it, since he's had shit luck today with opening the door, and happily sunggles back into the warmth of the cushions. His wrist whines at the brushes against the tender skin, but sleep always wins out over pain. Louis knows this for absolute certain.

"Lou," Niall calls, an odd tone to his voice.

Louis is instantly awake, it's embarrassing really, and his heart is in his throat. There's only one person it could be, really, and Louis is  _so_ not looking forward to this.  _It was supposed to be goodbye_ , he thinks as he rounds into the hall, frowning at the sight of Harry looking sweaty and disheveled and panting, "Um." Not the most elloquent thing he's ever said, but he's cutting himself some slack.

Harry, oddly enough, is even more troubled with putting words together, "What the  _fuck_?"

Niall wisely exits the scene, shrugging helplessly at Louis.

All he can do is stare at Harry though, feeling his eyes widen as Harry backs him into the wall. Louis tries to come up with something to say, but he's truly at a loss for words, "Uh."

"You  _left_ ," Harry accuses, his voice betraying what his eyes won't; he's hurt. And terrified.

Louis knows the feelings well enough, he just isn't sure what  _Harry_ is doing with them. He looks away, shrugging as casually as he can manage, "I wasn't aware that I was expected to stay."

Harry shoves him, though it doesn't do much since he's already up against the wall, but it conveys his point well enough, "God _damnit_ , Louis. Stop pretending it doesn't matter! I'm _in love_ with you, you son of a bitch. So  _stop_ being such a prick about it."

Louis' whole world sort of stops and starts spinning in the opposite direction, leaving him shaky and disoriented.  _What_. "You..." his voice is weak now, horribly obvious, "you  _told_ all those ~~\--~~ "

"I told them that I wanted to forget you. That's how I always started, but I usually couldn't  _stop_ thinking about you after that. 's why I didn't let Cara..." Harry's voice is soft now, brushing over Louis in that gentle way that really isn't fair at all.

Only, well, maybe this time it is.

"So that's it, then? You just expect me to...what?" Louis doesn't like being confused like this, doesn't like being surrounded with such uncertainty. And, anyway, he was supposed to be putting all of this  _behind_ him. "I was supposed to be forgetting you," he whispers, desperation creeping into his words. He just can't  _help_ it, can't help that he could only take it for so long. Can't help that when he finally decides he's done is when Harry decides he wants  _more_.

Harry leans closer, their foreheads brushing as he shudders and murmurs, " _Please_...please don't."

"Half isn't enough, Harry," Louis says after a moment, making sure it's all layed out before either of them make a decision. Though, really, it appears that Harry already  _has_ come to a conclusion.

He has indeed, nodding hastily, "I suppose 's a good thing you've already got all of it."

A small smile falls on Louis' lips, "Not quite."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry is grinning at him.

Louis ignores it, instead watching the needle buzz over Harry's skin, "Stop staring at me like that."

"Say it, please," Harry says sweetly, dimples exposed and everything. Louis honestly doesn't remember the last time Harry looked at him like this, but his breath sticks in his chest like it's the very first time he's ever been on the recieving end of that look.

Hell, maybe it is.

"I'm in love with you back," he whispers into Harry's ear, rolling his eyes because how was he supposed to  _know_ that Harry is such a total sap? 

And, the thing is, Harry  _is_ a total sap, right down to pet names and hand holding and PDA that sort of makes Louis want to melt into a puddle every time he realizes that Harry is  _his_ and  _only_ his. It's...well, Louis wakes up most mornings wondering when the hell this dream is going to end.

Hopefully not any time soon.

When Harry's wrist is done, his idiotic grin still intact and the hearts still very much in his eyes, Louis just can't  _help_ it anymore. He leans forward and kisses Harry slowly, languidly, relishing in the fact that he just  _can_. He's the only person Harry ever has eyes for, the only person that seems to  _matter_ to Harry. It's...it's sort of overwhelming in the best possible way.

Louis wonders how he ever thought he could live with only half.

Half really was never enough.

But now he's got so much more.

 

_The ocean waves are_

_Endless blue_

_Whether near or far_

_I'll always remember you_

_Kept my wish upon a star_

_Took a while, but it came true_

_Whether by train or by car_

_It'll always lead me back to you_

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a dream
> 
> no joke
> 
> i need to rethink my life
> 
> cheers
> 
> xx


End file.
